


Raise Your Glasses (Diagonally Will Do)

by The_Capricious_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, crackfic, still could happen though, the french maid outfit is a plus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Capricious_One/pseuds/The_Capricious_One
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred is working for Madam Rosmerta. One day he shows up in <i> decidedly </i> inappropriate business attire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Your Glasses (Diagonally Will Do)

From the other room, Fred giggled. Madam Rosmerta froze. She had learned long ago that this was a very bad sign.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said to the warlock who was trying to peer down her robes. She took the flask of Fire Whiskey with her, to safeguard it against Ogdin’s transparent attempts at thievery. “I’ll pour your drink in a mo’,” she promised, pushing past a witch who was ogling her arse. It took her ten seconds to fight her way into the storeroom. Knowing Fred, that was approximately fifteen seconds too late.  
  
Rosmerta found Fred arse-up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the ridiculous, frilly thing attempting to cover his backside. A choked noise emerged from the back of her throat.  
  
Fred straightened up slowly, arching his back. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes, Madam?” he said coyly.  
  
Rosmerta’s first panicked thought was that she must have downed a customer’s drink by mistake. There was no way that Fred could be wearing a—a—well honestly, she hadn’t the faintest clue what he was wearing. His robes were incredibly short, showing a positively indecent amount of leg. The hem seemed to be lined with white lace. He was in an odd pair of stockings that seemed to have more holes than fabric. His boots didn’t even cover his ankle, and the heel was sharp and pointed. There was a tiny white apron tied around his waist, as froufy and bizarre as all the rest. And—was that a bodice?  
  
“What—what—“ she said. In the six months that Fred had worked for her, none of his previous shenanigans had prepared her for this. She was dumbstruck.  
  
“Am I doing? You told me that you wanted me to clean the storeroom today.”  
  
Rosmerta eyed his tights. Truth be told, they did make his legs look better than any man’s legs should. “What are you _wearing_?”  
  
“Well, since I was going to clean today, I reckoned I should look the part. Fetching, don’t you think?”  
  
“In what universe is that the right clothing for cleaning?”  
  
“The Muggle one,” Fred said, deadpan.  
  
Rosmerta accidentally pictured a middle-aged Muggle housewife in Fred’s clothing. She shuddered and wished, not for the first time, that it was possible to obliviate yourself.  
  
Fred finished cleaning one crate and trotted over to another one, taking tiny steps and swinging his arse obscenely. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed that he managed not to topple over, or whether to dissolve into a gibbering wreck. After a moment’s reflection, she realized that Fred probably wanted the latter. She closed her mouth and leaned casually against the wall.

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I need help waiting tables today, and the storeroom can wait.”  
  
“No doubt you’ve finally realized that my dashing good looks are simply wasted in the back room,” Fred said, striking a pose that Rosmerta would usually associate with a witch’s fashion magazine. He daintily removed his dusty apron, folding it carefully and placing it on one of the nearby creates. He then conjured an apron that was even more ridiculous than the last. After carefully smoothing his skirt, Fred flounced out into the main room. Rosmerta followed close behind, already regretting her momentary bravado.  
  
The patrons nearest to the storeroom noticed immediately, and there was a palpable reduction to the din. Bland faced, Rosemerta handed Fred his platter and loaded him with the correct beverages. He disappeared into the crowd. Though she couldn’t see him, she could track where he was by which parts of the room fell silent. By the time Fred returned to the bar to reload, the entire pub was still. Even the most plastered witches and wizards looked up blearily at the lack of commotion. Everyone was looking back and forth between Fred and Rosmerta. She made sure to look slightly bored. As Fred made his second round, the muttering began. One of the patrons had the drunken courage to slap Fred’s arse. Fred smiled beatifically at them, blowing them a kiss.  
  
As fate would have it, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley chose the most unfortunate time to frequent the Three Broomsticks. The bell on the door tinkled—it had been near half a decade since Rosmerta had heard that bell during work hours—and on the threshold stood two bewildered parents. Rosmerta took vindictive satisfaction in knowing that even Fred’s _parents_ didn’t quite know what to make of him.  
  
Mr. Weasley recovered first. “Ooh, is that a Muggle outfit? You simply must—“  
  
“IS THAT MY APRON?” Mrs. Weasley screeched.

After a good 40 minutes of yelling, a ringing silence fell. Rosmerta cautiously took her fingers out of her ears and poked her head out of the store room. The bar was empty except for Fred. His outfit was rather conspicuously missing an apron.  
  
Rosmerta surveyed the empty bar and heaved a heavy sigh. “That’s it for the customers today, I think. We might as well close up shop.”  
  
“Am I imagining things or is there a hand on my bum?”  
  
Rosmerta looked down. “Would you look at that,” she said, squeezing her hand. “There is.” A quick spell locked the store and pulled the blinds.  
  
Much foolish wand waving ensued.


End file.
